


a bad day

by verity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day," Stiles said, throwing himself facedown on their couch; after a moment, he went on, voice muffled by the cushion. "I hate this day. This day is fired."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a bad day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clio (clio_jlh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clio_jlh/gifts).



> warning: there is a moment where Derek feels like he's unable to give or withhold consent, but everything is ok in the present.

"This is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day," Stiles said, throwing himself facedown on their couch; after a moment, he went on, voice muffled by the cushion. "I hate this day. This day is fired. Let's have angry sex."

Derek got up from the chair by the reading lamp that he'd adopted as his own the day he moved in with Stiles, came around to the side of the couch so he could lean down and run his fingers through Stiles's hair, rub his scalp in the way that always made him calm down. "I'm not angry at you," he said.

Stiles squirmed against the couch. "I'm angry at me. It could be transitive."

"You can go jerk off in the shower, then," Derek said, because he couldn't say no, exactly, but he didn't want—that. He could say no, now, when it was just to himself.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled away from Stiles and went into the kitchen. Stiles liked coffee and tea, drank them even in the hottest part of the summer, but Derek didn't really like hot drinks aside from hot chocolate. He made it on the stove, the way his dad had, warming the milk, adding in cocoa powder and sugar and a dash of vanilla or cinnamon. Sometimes he'd fill up a whole thermos, sit and drink it on the steps outside while he waited for Stiles to come home.

Stiles came into the kitchen a little while later, when Derek had moved on from adding ingredients to steadily whisking as the temperature of the milk rose higher. "I'm sorry." He came over, stood at Derek's side. "I know you—that wasn't—I didn't mean—"

"You did," Derek said. That wasn't fair, but Stiles hadn't been fair, either, and it had been a long night, waiting for him. When they'd gotten together, it had seemed like Derek was the one who'd always be leaving Stiles to hold vigil, not staying at home, barred from part of Stiles's life by mountain ash and will.

"I don't want to talk about it," Stiles said, even though Derek hadn't asked.

Instead of answering, Derek turned off the burner, got down two mugs and the bag of marshmallows that always ended up wedged in by the mugs instead of in the pantry where it belonged. His hands were steady, pouring the hot chocolate in. 

Stiles fell asleep halfway through an episode of _South Park_ , a rerun, his head lolling in Derek's lap. He was still sniffly, recovering from the cold that had made its way up from the student population on the first floor to the archives on the third, and his lips were slightly parted, the tip of his tongue just visible. This was the thing that had surprised him most about Stiles, how easy it was, just being with him, at the end of the night when they were done bickering, or here, right down in the middle of all the awfulness they had inside. 

Stiles's hot chocolate was going cold on the table, the marshmallows half-melted. Derek turned down the volume on the TV and tugged the throw on the back of the couch over Stiles. Maybe he'd fall asleep here, too, wake up in the morning with a crick in his neck. He could live with that.


End file.
